


fighting evil by moonlight

by WanderingCreep



Category: Justice League (2017), Justice League - All Media Types
Genre: Late Night Conversations, Pastries, Saving the World
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-11 03:14:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15306207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderingCreep/pseuds/WanderingCreep
Summary: barry hates that all the good places to eat are closed after a fight.





	fighting evil by moonlight

fighting evil by moonlight

 

Why is it always nighttime when the crazies decide to come out? Barry understands that it’s easier to move around sneakily at night under the cover of darkness, but after a while, shouldn’t the bad guys start to realize that people like the Batman and Superman and even Barry himself were prowling around to prevent them from doing shady things? At this point, nightfall should’ve become a Pavlovian response of sorts to them: don’t go out while there’s superheroes about.

But whatever. Barry digresses.

It’s just their nature, he supposes.

In any case, it’s been a rough night. It wasn’t a robbery or a mugging that’s got Barry riding the essence of adrenaline right now. No, he and the other members of the League had been fighting a supervillain that Batman had been tracking for months; some kind of crazed shapeshifting person who went by the name Who (Barry couldn’t decide if it was clever and meta or just cheesy and lame) that was systematically trying to frame government leaders and destroy whole democracies.

A _big_ step up from the likes of the petty gangs and incompetent bank robbers that he normally fought back home. This was almost as big as the Steppenwolf incident, but with a lot less imminent death and bug demons (thank _god_ ). It had taken a while, and with the Shapeshifter taking the forms of each of the members of the League, the fight had been brutal and emotionally taxing.

So what better way to decompress than to hang out, right?

Well, a sort of impromptu hangout session.

Their fight had ended in Paris, so it made sense that they ended the night there too. A fight that long and arduous had left the team exhausted and, for a certain speedster, starving. Which brought Barry back to the question: why was it always nighttime when the crazies decided to come out? Nighttime, when all the good places to eat were closed for the day? It’s like they all conspired to waste Barry’s time, time that could be spent refilling on carbs.

God, his blood sugar was low.

Thankfully, there had been a little pastry shop nearby that was open late, and Barry was _ecstatic_.

The shop sits untouched by the battle, a shining beacon of delicious, sweet-smelling heaven that shone through the dark streets of Paris. _La Petite Pâtisserie_ was painted on the front window in immaculate gold script, and opening the front door rang a little bronze bell hanging above it, signaling a customer.

Barry all but skips inside.

He’s actually the first one inside the shop, not quite speeding over to the pastry case but doing his best to get their quickly with his low blood sugar. It’s a cute shop, really lives up to its _petite_ name. It’s a hole in the wall bakery painted with stripes of carmine and ruby and trimmed with gold; Barry would appreciate its inherently cute atmosphere if he wasn’t so focused on the pastries beckoning to him from the display case. He practically bounces on his toes while he hovers over the case, face illuminated with the display lights inside. There are rows and rows of pastel colored treats lining the inside of the case, some of which he can’t even begin to pronounce the names of.

The girl behind the counter is staring at him with a mix of polite interest and subtle confusion. The bell rings again – more customers – and she looks up to greet them, and immediately the confusion becomes palpable. Unbeknownst to Barry, the rest of the League has caught up to him, slogging their way into the shop.

“Guys,” Barry turns to them with a beaming smile, “ _Guys_. This is actually heaven; come check this out! This stuff looks amazing! I can’t even pronounce half of this stuff! Dian – _Wonder_ _Woman, sorry_ ; you live in Paris, right? Can you pronounce this? Guys, we have to try some.”

Diana gives him a tired smile.

Arthur gives him a look to rival the stormiest of seas and drops like a sack of bricks into one of the booths along the wall. He stretches his legs out across the bench and thumps his head back against the wall. Clark sits on the bench across from him, a little more refined, and props his head up on his hand, elbow resting on the table. Victor drags a chair from one of the other tables over to the booth and takes up resident at the end of the table.

Bruce drops into the open space next to Clark and waves his hand tiredly at the girl behind the counter. “Just give him whatever he wants,” he sighs.

Diana relays this to the girl, “ _L’homme en noir paie pour_ _ça_ ,” and nods at Barry to go ahead.

And, boy, does he.

There are macarons and eclairs, and, like, fifty different kinds of tarts, croissants, ganache cakes, Napoleon cakes, tiny petite fours decorated with careful, delicate frosting flowers, French pies, crème puffs, crème brulees, sweet breads, madeleines, and way more pastries than Barry would ever know what to do with.

He really must remember to thank Bruce profusely for this.

And he’s really sorry for the crazy amount of money he’s about to make him spend.

Barry flits from pastry to pastry, pointing at treats from behind the glass, “Can I get two of those, and one of these, and – “

And Diana relays each order to the girl behind the counter, somehow able to keep up with Barry’s rapid-fire speech, “ _Il aimerait que deux d'entre eux et l'un d'eux ...”_

By the time Barry’s done, he’s got enough food to feed six people and even though he can’t understand her, when the girl gives the total, he’s sure it’s an unreasonably insane amount. Diana glances back at Bruce, who is still reclined at the booth, legs stretched out as far as they’ll go under the table, eying the ceiling tiredly and not paying attention at all. Then she turns back to the girl with a mischievous grin and points at a ramekin of crème brulee.

_“Et l'un d'eux aussi.”_

All of Barry’s pastries go into these adorable little white boxes that brandish the shop’s logo on the top in the same gold lettering and cursive font that was on the front windows. He’s got four in total, stacked on top of each other, and he’s already nibbling on one of the croissants from the box on the top when he sidles over to the table. Victor takes one look at the boxes, blinks his human eye, and turns to Bruce.

“Man, it’s lucky you’re a billionaire.”

Bruce sighs.

After he pays the girl (begrudgingly, Barry might add), Bruce herds the rest of the team out of the shop, probably for fear of them trying to break the bank by buying their weight in fancy European pastries. The jet is waiting for them when they leave the shop, hovering a few blocks away in a spacious park. Diana nods her goodbye and flies off in the direction of wherever she lived in the city with her paper bag of crème brulee, leaving the guys to get home on their own accord.

Barry settles into a seat on the jet and munches happily on another croissant, pulling out his phone and scrolling through Twitter to pass the time, completely unaware of Victor watching with barely disguised disgust as he goes through the first box like a starving animal.

“Man, it’s _really_ lucky you’re a billionaire,” he tells Bruce.

The entire four boxes of pastries have been eaten before the jet even gets halfway across the Atlantic. Barry contemplates ordering a pizza when they get home.

 

**Author's Note:**

> L’homme en noir paie pour ça/ the man in black is paying for this  
> Et l'un d'eux aussi/ and one of those
> 
> might turn into a 'justice league doing mundane and domestic things' fic set depending on my motivation.  
> find me here: neonflavored.tumblr.com/


End file.
